Come Home
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Desmond's finally pulled himself from the coma. Shaun's right there beside him when he wakes.


He grunted as the screen in front of his eyes disappeared. His head was clearer than it had been in a long time as he sat there, collecting his thoughts. There was a warm weight on his stomach as he breathed—in, out, in, out, the smell of mold, the smell of stale. He twitched his hands as his eyes fluttered open. There was something in one of them—left, right, he wasn't sure which one.

There were mossy, mildew covered walls. Bricks—stones—they must have been old. He blinked slowly before letting his eyes travel up the cords sticking out of his arms. There were bags attached to each one, and his underwear was really uncomfortable. It felt almost like soft paper. IVs, his mind supplied, and diapers. He sneezed, and the weight on his stomach moved.

"Desmond?"

He blinked as he stared at the brown thing moving from his stomach. It was human. It rubbed a hand across its eyes and turned to look at him. It was wearing glasses and had worried, tired eyes.

It was Shaun.

"Desmond?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but he could feel the Italian in the back of his throat, dancing on the tip of his tongue, so he smiled and twitched his hand.

"Shaun." It was coarse and quiet.

Shaun blinked, and Desmond disjointedly reached to touch his cheek.

"Shaun," he croaked.

There was no Italian in just saying, "Shaun." And he liked the feel of his name, it was familiar, much more so than anything in the Animus. Despite the foreign language taunting him if he dared say anything more, he felt better than he had in a long time. He felt like himself. Shaun watched him blearily before covering his hand with his own and kissing his palm. Desmond tugged on his hand, and the man moved to sit closer to his head.

"You really woke up."

"To the best thing ever," he said, feeling the Italian dance on his lips and mar the English with an accent.

A smile tugged at Shaun's lips. "You're really back. I should've known it would take more than the Animus to get rid of you."

"I'll keep coming back as long as I've got you."

Shaun exhaled loudly, a small smile tugging more on his lips as he rolled his eyes. "Are all of your ancestors like this?"

He smirked. "Yeah, it's who I get it from."

Shaun shook his head. "I suppose I should go get Lucy and the others."

Desmond squeezed his hand. "I think you should just stay here a little longer."

"Can you walk?"

Desmond was quiet for a little bit. "Yeah," he finally responded, "but my legs feel like lead."

Shaun lifted his free hand to run through his hair. His eyes fluttered closed on instinct at the simple touch. He could hear Shaun breathing, and for once, he had never been so glad.

"You know," Shaun murmured, "you should bathe. A sponge bath is not effective to clean hair."

He chuckled, opening his eyes to gaze at the man.

"You're lucky you can move in the Animus, or else you'd have serious bed sores. Erudito and I were in charge of rolling you around like a log."

"Thank you."

"Cor, I can't believe you actually came back."

"Shaun," he started, looking at the man. He felt his heart swell inside his chest. "Shaun, I came home." His eyes grew warm, and he could feel tears building: he didn't know how much he had missed him until just now. "I came home to you."

He reached up, slowly, to run a thumb over Shaun's cheek. Shaun leaned into the touch with a soft sigh. He trailed his hand to the back of his neck and pulled Shaun down slowly. This was what he missed the most, he thought, as he pressed a kiss to his mouth. Call him a sap, call him a hopeless romantic, but he missed kissing his lover. No technology could recreate the feelings he got when he pressed their lips together, and Shaun's lips were warm and chapped. They were dry and peeling as if he hadn't been putting on Chapstick as all four of them normally did. It was the most incredible thing he had felt in a long time as his heart pounded harder, slower, and he felt as if he were taking a drug for the first time in several months after deciding to quit. He inhaled deeply, curling his fingers into the hairs at the base of his neck. It was a simple kiss, and he loved the feel of Shaun's lips against his, parting slightly to press his tongue lightly against Desmond's lips.

Desmond responded in like and let Shaun's tongue slip into his mouth. He could feel him move to straddle him on the Animus as their tongues moved slowly, gently, against the other. He slipped his hands under Shaun's shirt just to feel the skin there, warm and real beneath his fingers, drawing small patterns just to hear the small noises Shaun made as his lover's hands curled into his chest. Their tongues were warm and slick, and it felt like Heaven to kiss his lover after so long in the Animus, reliving his life on the run. There was comfort in the slow and heated kiss. There was comfort in the weight on his hips. There was comfort in knowing that he was "in the here and now," and that Shaun was with him, and that he could feel his own heart beating, and that Shaun's tongue was so familiar, and that everything was just perfect.

He startled when he felt something warm and wet fall onto his face, but when he pulled back, Shaun wasn't crying. His eyes were watery, but there weren't any more tears—just a tear line down his nose. His skin was pale and pulled tight, highlighting the dark bags under his eyes. He hadn't gelled his hair, and he was looking scruffier than normal.

"Goddamn moron," Shaun whispered, pressing his face against his neck. Desmond could feel him trying not to cry. "You know how bloody hard it was to take care of you?"

He hummed, wrapping his arms around Shaun and holding him close.

"Changing the IVs so you don't die of malnutrition while you lie there like the useless lump you are."

He felt Shaun press harder against him.

"Changing your fucking diapers because you had to relieve yourself—you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Sorry," Desmond murmured, moving one hand to cup the back of his head as the other wrapped tighter around Shaun's waist.

There was a brief pause, then, "I know."

"You didn't have to do it."

"I didn't for a while. I was too mad at you."

He let a small smile grace his lips. "The girls took care of me?"

"Only for a day. And then I decided they shouldn't touch you so intimately."

He hummed, one hand starting to rub Shaun's back. Slowly, he could feel Shaun relax in his hold and, eventually, fall asleep in his arms—despite the awkward position on the Animus. Nothing he had relived in the Animus could compare to the feel of holding his lover quite like this. Nothing he felt could compare to the gentle breath on his neck or the way his lover's body moved as he breathed. No complaint or bitter sarcasm was as sharp as Shaun's. No accent would sound quite the same. Nothing compared to the way his lover cuddled as he slept. Nothing could compare to everything he found in Shaun.

Nothing was better than coming home.


End file.
